


Heat

by Niler



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Repost for an interested party</p>
    </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Repost for an interested party

 

 He thinks desire has a colour: not a single colour – shades of the same colour – a spectrum.

 Desire is red.

 He knows that with Dani it was a sort of pale red, almost pink, and he thinks he associates that with love or at least gentle affection.

 He thinks it’s been pale red with all the girls he’s liked, because it has always been about affection, about love, which, until quite recently, he was sure incorporated desire, quite naturally took in passion, too.

 Apparently not.

 He knows this, because the desire he feels for Zayn is not about love.

 That is something separate and has its own colour, a colour that he isn’t sure complements red, a colour he is sure will clash quite nastily.

 His love for Zayn is blue – a deep, royal blue – strong, noble, steady and sure.

 He puts the love in one corner, looks at it often, is happy to show it to others. The desire he hides in a strongbox, determined to never peek at it – even when alone – never shows it to anyone, especially not Zayn.

 The desire scares him, makes him feel unstable, exposed, so he works hard at slowly, but surely draining away all its threatening hue, making it bland and toothless.

 He hasn’t noticed any real success in this endeavour thus far, but he is nothing if not persistent.

 

**

 

He really hates it when Zayn talks about his girlfriend. They all like her – she’s a top girl – but Liam isn’t sure what’s going on with Zayn and it makes him uncomfortable, puts him on the back foot.

They’ve talked about Harry and Louis – ad infinitum – and that’s led to general talk about gay stuff, about doing it with other guys. He was very clear about his boundaries, saying that he didn’t see that there was anything intrinsically wrong with it, just that it wasn’t for him.

 At which point Zayn shrugs and says: “It’s not that big a deal – just sex.”

 He stares at him, not sure if… “No, I know; that wasn’t what I was saying. Although it’s pretty obviously not just sex for Louis and Harry.”

 Zayn’s looking at him, expression intent, like he’s thinking something you just know he’s never going to say. “Yeah.” He relaxes back in the chair, puts his feet on the pouffe. “I did mean for me, though – wasn’t talking about them.” And he’s looking at him, a slightly challenging expression on his face. “Had sex with guys – wasn’t a big deal.”

Liam’s shocked, not sure whether it’s the fact that he’s messed around with other guys or the fact that it’s said so casually that’s most shocking. “Oh,” he says, struggling to find more words, to either express urbane dispassion or the shock he was actually feeling.

“It happens,” Zayn’s still staring at him, clearly coming to conclusions based on the expression on his face, the rigidity of his stance.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” He’s swallowing and can feel the first tingling tendrils of a blush starting up. He wants to ask, but should he, could he? “Who was it with?”

Zayn looks deliberately into his eyes, holds his gaze and says: “Every time or just the first time - or the last time?”

And Liam does blush now and unable to find anything approaching the wherewithal to continue the conversation makes an excuse and hurries out the room.

When he’s eventually able to look Zayn in the face without feeling like a naïve idiot Zayn gives every appearance of never having told him a thing. It’s obvious that they’ll never speak like that again, and Liam knows that he’s missed an opportunity.

It’s only later that he realises that he could not have borne to hear Zayn speak of his adventures with other guys and not because it was shocking, but because it hurt, and the hurt, neither acknowledged nor understood, had, at the time, merely felt like shock.

 **

It’s always felt like normality the way he and Zayn don't talk about what's between them. He’s started to wonder if this isn’t common between guys. He can’t believe that this ‘uncommon’ desire can have found succour within this group of what he’d have to say are pretty bloody ordinary guys. None of them are what he’d call gay, yet there’s Harry with Louis and…and he... and Zayn.

He can’t say he’s with Zayn. There is no him and Zayn – in that way. He loves him; he’s prepared to tell anyone that, but he doubts they’ll ever take the step Louis did with Harry – that’s just too…scary. It’s okay to love him, not so okay to desire him too. He finds the way that it’s both for Louis and Harry intriguing, but it’s never felt like something he can ever expect to emulate.

He isn’t jealous of them, no, not of them…

He used Dani, used his relationship with her to keep Zayn at arms’ length and now he suspects that Zayn is giving him a taste of his own medicine.

All of this is all the more problematic since they have yet to acknowledge the attraction between them, so there’s an added layer of dense complexity to get through.

He wants to talk to Louis about it, but he is still embarrassed that he hasn’t been able to simply love Zayn, that he’s brought the desire into it, too.

He already knows that the desire is a wild, wild card; that it makes a mockery of good sense, that it can and most probably will, at some point, fuck him hard in the arse.

 

**

It’s been months since Zayn confessed that he’d been with other guys and to his shame Liam’s started watching him, watching him closely after he’s been away from them for a while (ostensibly with his girlfriend or family) watching him around other guys. And he soon finds what he’s looking for: a too long stare, a sly little smile, a touch that’s a little too familiar, a little too intimate.

A fuck buddy.

And now he’s started looking with his eyes instead of his embarrassment and shame, he wonders how the hell he could have missed it.

His first impulse is to approach the guy, strike up conversation, try to …what? Get a scent of Zayn on him? A definitive answer as to what type of guy does it for him?

That’s ridiculous, of course: he’s a fuck buddy, a convenience – he’s not necessarily Zayn’s type, just a port in a storm.

He repeats this like a mantra, a mantra designed to keep jealous insanity at bay for just a little while longer.

 **

When Zayn puts an arm around him during their latest interview he moves away as subtly as possible, but enough to give him a really clear message.

Zayn gets the message.

He doesn’t make a fuss, does what he always does – simply accepts Liam’s tendency to blow hot and cold.

Like it’s that fucking simple. Like it’s about loving him or not loving him.

Zayn’s fucked guys, he’s taken that step, so, as he was at such pains to tell Liam, it’s no big deal – for him. It’s a big fucking deal for Liam, however.

For a start he has a fucking girlfriend. Now, that clearly doesn’t matter to Zayn, but it matters to him. He often wants to ask Zayn how he’d feel if she were fucking around with other guys – or girls – behind his back, but it’s none of his business. He never, ever spoke about Dani with Zayn – always Louis – and he doesn’t see how he has the right to tell Zayn a damn thing about his relationship.

He’s jealous of her, but has resolved to live with it. He doesn’t see why and how he can be expected to live with Zayn fucking around with other guys!

It’s like a slap in the face, and he is so not okay with it.

He didn’t even have the decency to keep it off his doorstep – he must have known that that there was a really good chance Liam would find out sooner or later.

Either he wanted him to, or just didn’t care.

Neither option sits well with him, so he opens the strongbox, takes out the desire and replaces it with the love, shuts the box, locks it… 

**

Sometimes the desire is a bright, cheery red: the red of apples, the red of balloons at a birthday party. Mostly it isn’t. It isn’t today: today it’s the deep, black-red of spilled blood congealing on the ground.

He knows Zayn’s alone – his girlfriend’s abroad, which is when he suspects Zayn takes the opportunity to commit his…adventures - so he knows it’s okay to go there.

He likes his house; not what he’d choose, of course, but he’s comfortable there, more comfortable when he’s there with the others, but he’s lost patience with his cowardice and has packed determination together with the slow burning embers of his anger and doesn’t even phone him first.

 

**

Zayn is not surprised to see him, he is a little surprised when Liam follows him into the kitchen, picks him up, carries him the short distance to the longest, least cluttered counter and sets him down. “What you doing, man? Let go.”

“How many times have you been to bed with him?”

The light in the kitchen is bright, as one would expect; it picks out every hair on Zayn’s upper lip, every lash on his eyelid. His left eyebrow is slightly ruffled, and staring, Liam runs a finger over it. He can feel the red pulse of desire try to make a break for it through this finger.

Zayn’s staring at him, his eyes a soft, golden brown. He doesn’t look startled, worried, or confused. “Why?” he asks, holding his gaze.

“I’m jealous.” And there; he’s said it, and having said it the desire escapes, not through his finger, but through his mouth, not even waiting for Zayn to respond, not asking, just taking, grabbing – gobbling.

Zayn seems entirely at home with his legs wrapped around Liam’s waist, returning his kisses with interest, kissing him in a way Liam is certain he doesn’t with girls. Well, Liam knows this because he’s kissing him back the same way and he knows damn well he has never, would never dream of doing that with any girl.

Zayn’s been smoking, but he doesn’t care, has become familiar with that scent, associates it with him.

He pushes his tongue into Zayn’s mouth, pulls out to apply it to his lips, licking like it were his own mouth being smoothed, wetted.

It feels so damn comfortable; like anything he does will be okay, like anything Zayn does the same.

He isn’t yet overcome with desire, his head is still in charge, and he realises with something approaching incredulity that he doesn’t love Zayn, he’s in love with him. He’s in love with him because all he wants to do is make love to him, no care to his own pleasure, just intent on touching him, pleasing him, feeling him close.

“I’m so jealous, jealous of all the guys you’ve kissed, all the ones you let touch you.”

“Yeah, I know, but you don’t need to be.” He’s got both arms around Liam’s neck, languid tongue playing in and around his mouth.

“Were you trying to make me jealous?”

“No.” Liam leans to bite – brand – his neck. “That was just a bonus.” He meets Liam’s gaze and there is a very familiar challenge there.

Liam later wonders at himself, wonders that he could be so …unmannerly…but there has always been something in that challenging gaze that he is sure is like a catalyst for the desire he’s toting around (now free and clear of its box), felt that should the two ever exist in the same space there would be an explosion.

There’s an explosion.

**

He thinks he’s a good lover – considerate, careful, thoughtful – but he has never really been passionate. Just as the colour of desire has always been pale with anyone not Zayn, so has the passion. No, he honestly believed he’d touched passion – numerous times – it’s only Zayn that lets him know he's mistaken.

 **

Kitchens are designed for one thing and one thing only; that one thing is not fucking.

When the desire hit with its red claws, blinding red mist and pounding earthy beat (which may have been the blood coursing through his veins of course), he forgets where he is, forgets everything he’s ever thought about anything…

 

**

Zayn is very good, very, very good at sucking cock, and though Liam knows he’ll need to take time to be extremely angered by that realisation, that can wait, that will have to wait; he can’t actually think of anything other than the sensations spiking through him, the way his hips rise up to meet Zayn’s wet mouth, the way Zayn’s hand is expertly sliding his cock in and out, doubling the pleasure.

“Yeah, that feels so good. Yeah.” His voice is a whisper, a caress, twinned by the gentle hand on Zayn’s cheek, the fingers sliding into his hair. He wanted this, longed for this, but now it’s here he realises that the one thing he hasn’t done is prepared for it…

 

**

The chair is strong, but he’s surprised it’s holding up under their combined weight, the enthusiasm with which Zayn’s riding him.

He thinks he should be telling him to slow down, take it easy, but that would be such a lie and there’s no point, no sense in lying right now. The sensation is fucking amazing: he has never had anal sex before and he is so glad – in a way – that Zayn knows what he’s doing. The passion has made him weak, clumsy and stupid – he couldn’t even get a johnny on by himself – and certainly couldn’t use his tongue for anything other than thoroughly wetting Zayn’s hole, definitely not to talk. Recalling now the way he’d bent Zayn over the table, spread his legs - cocking one leg on the table for better access – and then just feasted on his arse, has him gripping Zayn’s hips so hard he elicits a gasp.

He can’t even say sorry; speech is a mere memory.

Zayn’s cock’s wet at the tip, brushing deliciously against him with each bounce. He can tell this position – with the friction on his cock – is absolutely perfect for Zayn so concentrates on not moving, ensuring everything stays perfect for him.

He’s in seventh heaven either way and seeing the pleasure on Zayn’s face is going to make him come any second now. He doesn’t want to come until Zayn’s close, but Zayn’s looking at him, mouth open, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and Liam knows that he’s going to make him come – that making him come is Zayn’s goal.

“Love you,” he says, before his eyes squeeze shut, his body bucks and a long, low groan escapes the confines of his tight throat.

He is sure Zayn’s going to be covered in bruises come morning, and it’s his intention to kiss each and every one of them better.

 **

They talk in bed, stay up all night talking.

He doesn’t ask him to break up his relationship, tells him he’s prepared to share.

Zayn looks at him. “Don’t worry about it,” is all he will say, almost glaring at him when he tries to question.

So that subject is put to one side.

Zayn gives the impression he thinks it’s dealt with. Liam isn’t so sure, but now is clearly not the time, so he leaves it.

“I don’t like you sleeping with other guys.” This one’s non-negotiable and he’s prepared to fight about it if necessary.

Zayn shrugs, reaches for a cigarette. “Okay.”

Liam watches him, wishing he wouldn’t, for once, be so damn inscrutable. “You don’t think I have the right?”

“You _do_? Why, because we just fucked?” He blows smoke away from him, automatic, like he’s used to doing that.

Liam hesitates, really unsure now. His instinct is to seek refuge in his usual timidity, the urge to forever accommodate, but no, he’s where he’s wanted to be for fucking ever and that didn’t happen by him being timid or accommodating. “You want commitment? I love you. I loved you before her, before any of them. I know you’ve got feelings for-” He breaks off when he gets the glare, changes tack. “But if it’s just sex with them, then please don’t. I think I have the right to ask you not to be with other guys.”

“What’s love got to do with it?” He’s peering at him through the pungent smoke. Liam can’t read his expression.

“Everything.”

“You think I don’t know you love me?” Impatient, he turns and stubs out the half- smoked cigarette. “What’s changed? You can say and do anything you like between these four walls, but how about when we’re out in public? Anything gonna be different then?” His shrug, the way he leans back against the headboard answers the question without him needing to say a word.

“Yes,” he says quietly, hating this, but knowing just how necessary it is.

“You can’t say that, you don’t know.”

“I do.”

“You think that all it takes is a bit of sex to change you?”

“Yes,” he says, almost incredulous that he’s even asking. “Don’t you?”

Zayn’s eyes are full of emotion. “It didn’t take sex.”

“And you think it did for me – that this is about the sex? I came here because I couldn’t not, couldn’t keep _not_ telling you. I wanted sex, but that’s not why I came here.”

“Why did you?”

“To tell you I love you!” And his voice is full of incredulity, so much so that Zayn starts smiling. “I-I to be honest I don’t even think I had a proper gameplan. I was jealous, angry and a lot of that was about me, about the way I keep letting you slip away, all the chances I’ve had to tell you how I feel. I just fucking had enough!”

Zayn’s properly smiling now, obviously able to sense his sincerity. “I’m not asking for a commitment,” he assures, looking closely at him.

“You’ve got one, all the same. I don’t know how to have a relationship with anyone I love without committing to them.”

“I have very specific tastes in rings.” He spreads the fingers of his left hand, waggles the ring finger.

Liam laughs, takes the hand, plants a kiss on the finger in question. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Zayn smiles fondly down at his bent head. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you clearly have no idea what you’ve got yourself into.”

Sighing, Zayn slides down until he’s lying flat, his hand still captive. “Look, if Harry can put up with his idiot then I think I’ve got it bloody easy to be honest.”

Laughing, Liam slides down, too, turns to rest his forehead against Zayn’s.

He doesn’t let go of the hand.


End file.
